


Journal of a Broken Mind

by LearnToShareFeanor



Series: Drunk Texts [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive father who believes that all people should be white and Christian, Aspergers, Faramir WUMP, Faramir doesn't agree., Gen, Main character with mental disorder, Racism, Trigger warning: SIDS death, Trigger: Death via childbirth (referenced)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnToShareFeanor/pseuds/LearnToShareFeanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faramir is given an assignment in class. It's his special education class, and even though Boromir doesn't tease him about it, he still feels stupid. So, alone in his room, he works on the assignment: he must keep a journal of his thoughts. He muses on his father's racism and hatred of all Non Christians and his father's hatred of him.<br/>Above all, Faramir just misses his Mom. And he doesn't like being just 'Denethor's Boy' or 'Boromir's Little Brother'. He's smart, just not social. He wants people to see him as 'Faramir'. He wants to belong; but not as someone's property.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Journal of a Broken Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Exactly as in the summary. This is a little character building exercise, and it will be continued in Drunk Texts format. Sometimes it will be just a chapter or two in Faramir's journal, and sometimes Boromir will join in. There are trigger warnings listed in the tags; also, Faramir is not a traditional WPM character. (WPM, btw, is White Protestant Male- it happens a lot in stories and fics.). He is white, yes, but he doesn't identify with Christian beliefs, he is handicapped, and- well, he is male, so the M still stands. 
> 
> As always, please read and review!

                Hi, my name is Faramir. My teacher says that we’re supposed to keep a journal in class now. She says that she won’t read them- we can just write the same word over and over again if we want, it’s just to help us ‘organize our thoughts’. Boromir didn’t have to do this. I’m bad at writing. My first name is Faramir, and my last name is Steward. Like the airplane people.

                I have an older brother names Boromir, and I used to have a little sister, Glede. Her name is Norwegian, like my mom, and it meant Joy. Her name was a lie. Glede was a few hours old when she died. We didn’t really recover. I can tell because we don’t speak about it like other families do. There’s a room upstairs that we all pretend doesn’t exist, but I’ll get back to that later. I’ve got to go hang up some clothes.

                Okay, I’m back. My Dad’s name is Denethor Steward, and he owns a big hotel. Boromir and me- no, it’s supposed to be Boromir and _I._ Boromir and I work in it. He does guest relations sometimes. I clean the pool.

                My Mom’s name was Jern Hjerte Steward. She was from Norway, and she was the CEO of an international online sales business- they buy things, you buy them cheaper than in store- the usual. Her name meant Iron Heart and she lived up to it. It’s hard to talk about her. Every day when my brother and I come home, I expect to see her talking on the phone or on her laptop. But she isn’t.

                I know it’s not Glede’s fault, but she died in childbirth, and sometimes blaming somebody seems like it makes it easier. It doesn’t though, not really, so I stopped blaming her a long time ago. Now I just feel sad that I never got to see her. I bet she would’ve looked like Mom.

                After Mom died, we all shut down, like a computer. But a computer has a clean, precise shutdown sequence that it goes through, and there’s always the option of turning it back on. I don’t know if we can turn ourselves back on. We didn’t shut down cleanly.

                Boromir fakes being okay, like I can’t hear him crying at night sometimes, like I can’t see him stop right in front of the nursery door. Every time, I want to tell him that it’s okay, that Mom wouldn’t have wanted us to forget. I want to open the door and show him the white crib and pink sheets and unicorns on the wall. But I don’t. I can’t.

                My Dad just hates everything, me especially. He told me one day that he would trade my life for my Mom’s any day, and I told him that I would too. Now we just ignore one another. I try to remember, he tries to forget. I love him, and he hates. I don’t know why he hates me, maybe I’m just his person to blame like Glede was for me. I stopped talking for a while.

                My teachers say that it’s normal for someone with Asperger’s or Autism to be anti-social, but I’m not. I like people, I like being around people. I just don’t like to talk all the time about nothing like people do. My Mom always hated it when people went on and on about nothing, so I don’t say anything that I don’t think needs to be said. Mark Twain said once that “It’s better to be thought a fool than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt.” I like Mark Twain. He’s a smart guy, and I was said when I found out he was dead. I don’t like to write, but I like to read, and I’ve read almost everything that he’s written.

                Hold on, I’ve got to check the washer and dryer.

                Okay, I’m back. Is it weird that I’m talking to you like I would if you were a person and I didn’t mind talking? I think it’s weird. I saw a thing about politics on the TV. Some jerk named Trump. He doesn’t like a lot of different people; I don’t get that. My teacher is Ms. Redbird, and she doesn’t seem stupid. My Dad says that black people are stupid, but I don’t understand. He says that I’m stupid too though, so maybe that’s why I don’t get it. I think we’re all just people and the color of our skin shouldn’t amount to anything, but that’s just me.

                He also thinks that Non-Christians are stupid. They have to be capitalized because he spits it out like a name. It’s kind of weird. Mom wasn’t Christian. She worshipped the Old Gods; Thor, and Odin, and Loki, and Frigga. My Dad started getting rid of my Mom’s old things after she died. It was after she died that he started hating people that looked different or were Non Christians. I don’t want to forget my Mom. I’m scared that if I forget the best Non Christian that I ever knew, I’ll turn into my Dad. If the price for being smart is hating everything, I’d prefer to be stupid and happy. I dig my Mom’s old things out of the garbage. Not the big things, like dressers. I wouldn’t have a place to hide them. But her Runestones, and her Norwegian to English translation book that she hadn’t used for years, some of her shrines, her candles, her incense. Things like that. I also took some things from the nursery; the rattle that she would’ve been given, a picture of Mom’s latest ultrasound. He can get rid of the rest, but even if Dad and Boromir want to forget, I promise you Glede, I will remember. Some people say that people aren’t truly dead as long as you remember them.

                I have a shrine to Frigga in my room. I pray to her on the Waxing Crescent, or on days that remembering is hard. She’s the Goddess of Fertility, Motherhood, and Magic. If anyone will watch over my Mom and my little sister, it’s her. I also pray to Ull, the God of Hunting and the Bow before competitions, but that’s a little different.

                I’ve always loved the stars. It’s how I met some of my friends. My Mom always used to love to go stargazing, and at nights, we’d lay on the roof and she would tell me all about the constellations, her religion, and sometimes how they mixed. It sounds weird, and Non Christian, I know, but I like it.

                I have an extra class before school- this one. It’s my Special Education class, but for everything else, I’m in Advanced Placement. My teachers say I do Math and Science at a college level, and that if I can be a little more social, I can do great things. I want to be an Astrophysicist. I’m good at Physics- I always make A’s or high B’s. I like Math, and sometimes, when I look at the stars, it’s like everything’s okay again or at least good enough that I can fix it.

                I joined the Archery team. Part of it was to have something to do when I’m waiting for my brother to get done with Football. Most of it, though, is to try to be more social. I want to be an Astrophysicist, and I have to leave this town to do it. I figure that as long as I can remember the good parts of where I come from, I can keep going. Maybe even to the stars.


End file.
